TENTATIVE PRAISE

“Aslan is a lion- the Lion, the great Lion." "Ooh" said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion"..."Safe?" said Mr Beaver ..."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”

C.S.Lewis, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe

To my un-safe but good King....  :)

Praise comes

from trembling lips

Gratitude stumbles

from mustard-seed heart

Wisdom emerges

from a terrible, yet sacred journey

Trust is budding

from this pilgrim walk.

Tears, miles, hours, prayers

all done with Him.

He has not left me.

Yet neither He has explained Himself.

He is Love and Mystery.

The storms, mountains & valleys

are not over.

I thought they were!

But this trek still has more

break-points, look-outs, summits and precipices.

It is all mapped out in tender, yet stubborn love.

I breathe in, I breathe out,

take the next step.

I stop to take in the view

And He whispers

and smiles.

If I don´t pay attention

I will miss it!

So I pause often

To see the sacred in the terrible

to find beauty in the shadows

to embrace joy in spite of 

to kiss velvety petals.

lay on green,

listen to quiet waters.

And in those moments, praise comes 

from trembling lips...






Photo by:  Jesús Pérez Pacheco

THE ALMOND BLOSSOMS OF WINTER

I spent 3 hours this morning with two of my besties here in Spain talking, praying and reflecting as we like to do.  We express our hearts about what life is bringing at present while the others listen intently first to the sharer, then to God.  Insights, scriptures, word pictures and phrases often catch in our souls for one another and we talk about them and pray for each other.  I frankly don´t know what I´d do without them.

After a rather emotional time for me this morning expressing my present dark phase, they were undaunted and listened intently to God on my behalf.  They heard some amazing, encouraging things and ministered to me with such compassion that I left sensing light and also, a literal turning point. 

Later in the afternoon, one of them wrote to me and said that while she was driving to an appointment she noticed that the almond trees are blossoming here in Andalucía.  I had noticed it, too, the day before; they are the first to bloom here.  But today it caught her attention because we had talked a lot about vineyards and pruning and seasons; I myself expressed that I was definitely in a ¨winter¨ season with little progress to notice at first glimpse.  But we reflected on the well-known fact that winter, while to the eyes seems like a barren time, really has some profound things going on.  This is the time of year when, underneath the soil, the roots are going deep.  During the sometimes long, dark, cold season of winter, there is much more than meets the eye!  It is a time to trust and believe in what is really happening  - and in what is to come.

But to think that some things actually blossom in the winter!  That was a fresh thought to me today. To think what it must be for almonds to blossom earlier than everything else!  What must their secret be?

The almond tree is the first to blossom and the last to bear fruit.  Almond trees are present in the Scriptures and are particularly associated with ¨one of the earliest prophecies of young Jeremiah.¨* 

¨The word of the Lord came to me:  ¨What do you see, Jeremiah?¨ 

¨I see the branch of an almond tree, ¨ I replied.  

The Lord said to me, ¨You have seen correctly,

 for I am watching to see that my word is fulfilled.¨    

 Jeremiah 1:11, 12

It gets even better:  The Hebrew word for almond, shaked, is also translated ¨to watch¨.  By seeing the almond branch, God assured Jeremiah that He is watching over His word to bring it to pass, no matter the passage of time.¨*  Almonds are clearly associated with God's watchful presence and promises for future fulfillment of His promises - even during our most wintry of times.

The almond trees around Andalucía where I am blessed to live are just coming alive this week and I am so touched to see their faith-filled prelude to spring.  The Almendros and their flowers are a symbol of awakening and hope - to all that God promises to watch over and fulfill.

May your day be blessed with (literal and/or figurative) almond blossoms! 

Photos in order of appearance:  Sydney and Theophilus Papadopoulos

Quote from:  Dr. Juergen Buehler, ICEJ (Int´l Christian Embassy in Jerusalem) Executive Director

THE SHOULDS

People think I should be in a different place -
be doing more things,
engaging & reacting,
committing & applying,
running & attending,
producing & processing...
everything in a way they imagine to be normal or right.
Maybe it´s how they think they would fare
if they were in my shoes.
How they would do it better, faster.

¨Just give me my grief!¨
I want to yell at them.
You can´t take it from me, or rush my process.
You can´t change my pain or do it for me or
impose your ways on my process.
Only I can do it.
I must walk this road alone,
in my own way.

It´s not that I want to be here.
It´s that I must be here.
And it does not mean I don´t need you.
I do need you -
loving, cheering, encouraging.
Not preaching or rescuing or pushing.

Just hold my hand.
Just be quiet.
Just be there.
Just love me in spite of this sadness,
this loneliness, tiredness, confusion, depression, fear.

I know I am hard to love right now.
I am sorry!
Please forgive me.
Please believe in me when I cannot believe in myself.
Please believe in who I will yet be,
in who I am becoming
on this road.

And please, help protect me from all the ¨shoulds¨ -
both my own & those imposed by others.



Photo by:  Connie Smith

IN THESE SHADOWS

In these shadows
I read
looking for inspiration, hoping for revelation...
but there are only words on a page.
I speak
looking for understanding, hoping for compassion...
but there is only empty advice.
I sleep
looking for sweet rest, hoping for refreshment...
but there is only restlessness & continual fatigue.
I pray
looking for light, hoping for relief...
but there is only a void.
I listen
looking for the Voice, hoping to hear it...
but there is only silence.

Oh God!  I cannot see you or find You!
Please reveal Yourself to me!

And if You are here in disguise,
present in ways I have not known before,
please open my eyes, my heart
to perceive, to believe.

In these shadows
help me to read words of life,
find compassion,
sleep the sleep,
see the Light,
and hear the Voice.

In these shadows
help me see past the camouflage of perceptions of God,
past the veil of sadness blinding me,
past the smoke screen of emotions dominating me,
past the illusions of who I should be...
past the veneer of how and where I think I should find You.

I don´t ask You to remove me from these shadows -
just that I can find You here among them.





Photo by:  Sundaram Ramaswamy

BROKEN STRIDE

(On differing styles & paces during grief in marriage.)

There used to be a certain comfortable pace to ¨us,¨
A togetherness of steps in this life journey.
There were, of course, out-of-step times occasionally,
But as a whole, we moved forward together in stride.

When our world crashed
and grief moved in,
our Stride was Broken.
For a while, we were both immobile
and time didn´t exist.
But as we began to move again,
everything was different;
as we began to stir,
we could see that our whole world had changed.

They told us that grief was a ¨two steps forward, three steps back¨ kind of thing.
But his forward steps were her backwards steps,
and when he was going backwards, she was moving forward.
Alignment began to elude us;
And we struggled, trying to recover our former rhythm.

The tempos were offbeat,
the gaits contrasting,
the pain distinct,
the headway disparate.
When he experienced acceleration,
she crashed.
While he rejoiced with new momentum,
she retreated to barely standing.
When she spoke of their grief articulately,
he struggled through tears to make sense to others.
When he marched or ran or on occasion raced,
she trudged, plodded or stumbled.
Sometimes he crashed -
and she lifted him up...
only to watch him catch the wind and fly off again.
Sometimes he slowed
and tried to gently carry her with him.
She travelled for a short stint -
but struggled out of his arms to walk her own necessary path.

There are two unmistakably distinct (and necessary) strides.
They are strange and scary to us both.
So the question is:
Can we be ok with this for a while?

Can we adjust to this unfamiliar divergence of paths?
Can we shoulder the loneliness of it?
Can we - for the sake of love & healing -
carry the weight of the frustrations and comparisons inherent in it?
Can we hold on to hope that we will learn a new pace -
possibly very different from the one before?

Each stride carries different scenery, experiences, relationships, emotions.
Neither stride is wrong -
but they are different.

Can we learn to find rest points together along the way
to regroup, listen & learn?
Can we respect the other person´s need for a different style and tempo?
Are we willing to take time & energy from other things to readjust?
Are we willing to live for a while with a Broken Stride?

There used to be a certain pace to ¨us,¨
A togetherness of steps in this life journey...
Our pace has changed & now there are two.
We may look awkward, we might not understand,
but we are moving -
and for now that is victory.




Photo by:  Billy Wilson

STILL A CHRISTMAS ALLELUIA*

If there is pristine white
and the exquisite, perfect scent of pine from the greens,
If there's a deliciously lit tree with jubilant colors and the perfect amount of twinkling,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there's a poignant conversation with a loved one,
or a special exchange with a dear friend.
If there is music in unexpected places that surprises & stirs you,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there's comfort & art in the food,
If there's joyful laughter and the earthy smell of cinnamon.
If there are orange crackling fires and warm sweaters,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there's deep longing & anticipation in the advent waiting,
If there are tears of remembrance at an absence,
If there are questions & hesitancy on establishing new traditions,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is beauty in carols or decorations or in people,
If there are ribbons or stockings or thankfulness,
If there are candles and melodies and mistletoe,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is thought & action & blessing of those in need,
If there is genuine service & sacrifice to those without,
If there is thought and prayer for those struggling, for those far away,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is pain in a heart for another, silent tears on cheek,
If there are gestures outside of self or love outside the familiar,
If there is filling of empty places & warmth for frozen lives,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there are cards to be opened with affection,
If there are secrets & winks & loving conspiracies,
If there are yuletide books & peppermint & mugs of steaming hot chocolate,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there are children & laughter & rosy cheeks,
If there are lists & traditions & long-awaited winter break,
If there are special holly-wrapped programs & events to celebrate the season,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is family to be picked up at the airport,
If there is love and togetherness at long last,
If there are smiles and full cups and hearts,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is growing closeness to the Savior born,
If there is new wonder at an old, old story,
If there is joy come upon the world,
It's a Christmas Alleluia.

If there is joy or sorrow or a melancholy mingling of both,
If there is grief rekindled in the midst of the delight,
If there is soul in your carols, and salty tears amidst the sweet,
It´s still a Christmas Alleluia.



*Just want to acknowledge Chris Tomlin's new song of similar title "A Christmas Alleluia".

https://youtu.be/j-roVacU27M

Photo by:  Nana B. Agyei

SAUDADES* (for JENNA)

Written with big love & appreciation on the occasion of Karol's

 Masters Recital.  Karol, one of Jenna's dear Brazilian friends, generously

 dedicated her amazing performance to Jenna's memory.  (Post forthcoming on her recital!)

Saudades*...
There is no other word for our longing
for this lovely soul.

For this lover of nations,
For this allegiant, lively friend,
For this ardently devoted fan of family.
Saudades.

For the head thrown back in laughter,
For the smile that lit the room,
For the elegant, mysterious way she carried herself,
Saudades.

For the cultural (& abundant!) odysseys in the kitchen,
For the practical jokes & bets,
For the deep philosophy at night,
Saudades.

For the opinions readily shared,

For the causes & principles she believed in,

For the zealous passion that spilled out around her,

Saudades.

For the broken heart for the poor & oppressed,

For the dreams & vision to make a difference,

For the intolerance for mediocre or indifference,

Saudades.

For the silent hours over a book or journal,

For the prayers poured out with paint or ink,

For the tender strumming of strings & heart,

Saudades.

For the love of learning & discovering,

For the insight & wisdom gently offered,

For the gift of bringing out the best in those around her,

Saudades.

For the genuine, honest heart,

For the last minute running with mate in hand,

For the stunning, natural beauty she was oblivious to,

Saudades.

For the love running over for God,

For the deep & authentic relationship,

For the passionate quest & journey for Love Himself,

Saudades.

For the uncommon global citizen who lived among worlds,

For the one who was nevertheless equally rooted & grounded,

For the girl who always came back to those she loved,

Saudades.

For the one who fought to live,

For the beauty & peace in her final surrender to the Master Plan,

For the one who went back home to the One she loves,

Saudades.

Saudades...

There is no other word for our longing 

For this lovely soul.

*Saudades:  An untranslatable Portuguese word referring to the "melancholic longing or yearning...it is an evoking of a sense of loneliness and incompleteness...poignant sadness, indolent, dreaming wistfulness."                       - from blog.dictionary.com

Photo by:  Carolina Franceschini, taken in Lebanon last year